The Touch of Your Hand
by ellijay
Summary: While on a dig at a former settlement of the Ancients, Daniel encounters a woman whose life has been profoundly changed by the mysteries of the ruins. Set between the second season episodes "The Fifth Race" and "Serpent's Song."
1. Chapter 1

"The Touch of Your Hand" by ellijay

Summary: While on a dig at a former settlement of the Ancients, Daniel encounters a woman whose life has been profoundly changed by the mysteries of the ruins. Set between the second season episodes "The Fifth Race" and "Serpent's Song."

Author's Notes: This is an old story, written back when SG-1 was new and shiny. I'm reposting it now mainly to have all of my fic in one place, but also in the hopes that it finds new readers or maybe makes its way back to previous readers who might want to reminisce. This story was originally published under another name, but I'm still me, many years of life experience notwithstanding, and the title and contents of the story are the same.

(Original Author's Notes: This is one for the Daniel Channel – All Danny, All the Time. If you insist on having more than passing references to other members of the SGC, run away quickly – this story is not for you!)

* * *

Chapter 1

"Latin is a language, as dead as dead can be…"

It had been so quiet for the past hour Daniel couldn't help but overhear what Ryan McConnell was muttering. He automatically joined in. "…First it killed the Romans, and now it's killing me." He smiled without taking his eyes off of the translation notes spread out on the worktable in front of him, finishing the sentence he was working on before looking up. "Should I call the medic, McConnell, or are you beyond help?" He was pleased to get a slight laugh in return. Private McConnell had been so serious ever since this mission had begun, but that could very easily be bewilderment and awe, plain and simple. He was new to the SGC, after all, and Daniel could still recall the wonder he himself had experienced when he first saw the Stargate – forget about actually stepping through it and landing on another world.

He returned his attention to the scattered pieces of paper, weighted down with rocks and smaller artifacts to keep them from blowing away in the wind that seemed to whisper incessantly over the fields of wheat and barley surrounding the nearby village of peaceable farmers, their technology little advanced from the Roman culture from which they were apparently descended. From time to time, Daniel found himself a bit disturbed that many of the transplanted human cultures they had encountered had evolved so little from their ancient roots. The Romans, though – the Romans had a lot going for them, and he found it somehow gratifying to see much of their simple but effective technology preserved here: aqueducts to bring fresh water from the nearby mountains, a meticulously maintained bathhouse (far superior to the icy cold streams or carefully rationed bowl of lukewarm water he'd had to resort to more than a few times in the past), beautifully simple buildings with open architecture and central courtyards, even a form of central heating in many of the homes. The village was called Arus Seyus – from the Latin "aureus seges," golden field of grain, part of his brain noted automatically.

They'd been here for three days already but had barely begun to scratch the surface of the literally thousands of inscriptions carved on practically every surface in the ruins. It was without a doubt a former settlement of the Ancients, located on one of the worlds Jack had programmed into the SGC computer when his brain had accidentally been filled with knowledge of that older than ancient race, the Makers of Roads, the builders of the Stargates.

He knew good and well that the hope of uncovering some leftover piece of Ancient technology, or even some reference in the inscriptions, was the only reason such a large contingent had been sent here. If this had simply been a matter of archeological curiosity, he would've been lucky to get half a day with whatever equipment he could carry himself. Despite early assurances that the cultural and archeological significance of each world would be evaluated, he'd noticed the change of focus ever since Apophis' near-disastrous attempt to attack Earth. It was only because of his dumb luck in stumbling into an alternate universe that the catastrophe had been avoided.

To be perfectly honest, dumb luck (or "serendipity" as Sam liked to call it) was responsible for many of the more important discoveries they had made, such as Jack stepping across a circle of inscriptions and then looking into the device that caused him to slowly loose the "fallatus" to speak properly. Dumb luck led to dumb luck – it was only because of his work with Jack during that disturbing and oh-so-fascinating experience that had led to him being appointed to head up the research wing of this mission. A military presence was still maintained in the form of SG-7, ostensibly tasked with ensuring the safety of the ad hoc linguistic team, but Daniel found it hard to believe there could be anything life-threatening here.

The people were friendly enough upon their arrival, a fact he chalked up in part to the very effective first contact work of SG-5. Five was one of the few other teams augmented by a civilian linguist, and he liked to think the non-military perspective contributed to the high number of successful first contacts that particular team had made.

The locals had been more than happy to provide them with a few native laborers to help the team excavate some of the half-buried ruins and had only placed two restrictions, really more like polite requests, on the proceedings. The first was that no artifacts be taken from Stat'okto, as the locals called the ruins. As much as Daniel was disappointed at not being able to take any of the relics back to Earth for further study, he supposed the sophisticated video and still photography equipment they had would provide some very close facsimiles. Sam had even worked up a system that could take a piece of video or even several still photographs and produce a surprisingly accurate 3-D computer model of artifacts.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, he was also a bit disappointed about not having another souvenir to tuck into a corner of his office, but he could make do with some photographs. Maybe he could even get a physical model of an artifact made from one of the computer models.

The second guideline imposed by the Arusians was that all work in the ruins be accomplished during the daylight hours. From dusk to dawn, all members of the team, and all of the locals for that matter, were to withdraw to Arus Seyus. Some sort of local superstition, he supposed. He couldn't really complain, though. They'd been given comfortable accommodations in the village, and the evenings provided him with an opportunity to observe the living culture. Besides, transporting the lighting equipment and generators necessary to light the ruins well enough to work by night would've been a waste of resources. Despite the focus on this mission, there were still limits to what could be committed to any one expedition in terms of both material and personnel. Daniel was far happier to have a few extra linguists, including a few military language specialists who had been brought in for the expedition, their clearance granted in a record amount of time. Private McConnell was one of those linguists.

Looking up from his work, Daniel eyed the young man – blue-eyed, freckle-faced and red-headed in a perfect stereotype of his Scottish surname. In the rush to get the team outfitted and off to Arus, he hadn't even had the chance to review the curriculum vitae (how apropos for this particular assignment) or service records of the linguists assigned to the team. Most of them he knew from prior associations at the SGC. McConnell, however, was a completely unknown quantity, although he'd quickly demonstrated a rather comprehensive understanding of Medieval Latin.

Daniel got up and stretched, feeling and even hearing several rather uncomfortable pops along his spine. Military-issue campstools were not exactly the most comfortable seating in the world. Military coffee, though – he closed his eyes as he inhaled the aroma of the two cups he was pouring. Strong enough to eat a hole in your stomach, but that was just the way he liked it. McConnell apparently shared his affection for industrial strength coffee. He'd matched Daniel cup for cup on this mission thus far.

McConnell mumbled a distracted "thanks" as Daniel set the cup down next to him. Daniel then leaned back against one of the poles supporting the tenting over them and watched with amusement as McConnell downed half of the scalding-hot cup without so much as flinching or taking his eyes off of his work.

"So how'd you end up on this assignment, McConnell?" Daniel asked, waving his coffee cup at the soldier. Unlike the young private with tastebuds of steel, he preferred to let his beverage of choice cool a bit before tossing it down his throat.

"Huh?" McConnell looked up, his expression distant, conjugations and declinations dancing in his eyes. "Oh, uh–" He paused a moment and leaned back on his stool, picking up his coffee cup and sipping a bit more carefully at what was left after his first gulp. "I, uh, was pulled from DLI." At Daniel's frown at being faced with yet another military acronym, McConnell added, "The Defense Language Institute. At the Presidio in Monterey."

"Oh, right. Of course." Daniel nodded his understanding. "You know, I actually applied for a position there teaching Arabic back before I went to work on the Stargate project. They turned me down flat. I guess they didn't much care for my shady reputation in the academic community. Just as well, though. I might never have ended up here. So, has the military found some obscure reason to teach Medieval Latin? We haven't known about the Ancients long enough for any kind of program to wade its way through the bureaucracy."

"Ain't that the truth." McConnell smiled good-naturedly before adding, "I was studying Croatian at DLI. I learned Medieval Latin when I was at seminary studying to be a priest."

Daniel raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. "So how does one go from wanting to be a priest to being a private in the United States Army?"

McConnell shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Celibacy kind of sucks for one thing." Daniel choked on the coffee he was about to swallow. Somehow he hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer, and he had to remind himself that Jack O'Neill wasn't the only one in the U.S. military with a talent for full frontal verbal assault. In fact, he'd noticed it seemed to be some kind of competition among the enlisted personnel, at least when there weren't any officers around to supply the disapproving frowns.

McConnell handed him a napkin and went on. "Let's just say I had a few, umm, 'philosophical' differences with the Catholic Church. Didn't much take to university life, either, so that left me with trying to find a job or joining the army. Work at the local grocery store and see Poughkeepsie – or join the army, have adventures, see the world. Hell, a whole other world now. Who ever would've thought Medieval Latin would get me a ticket to another planet?"

"I know what you mean, McConnell. Medieval Latin, Egyptian Hieroglyphs. Serendipity. More coffee?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" he rapped out with a smirk as he handed Daniel his coffee cup with his right hand and tossed him a sloppy salute with his left hand.

"Oh, God, you don't have to 'sir' me. You'll never see any stripes on this sleeve. No offense."

"None taken, Doctor Jackson. The military's not for everyone. Different strokes and all that."

Daniel set both of the coffee cups down, but before refilling them, he turned a very serious look on McConnell. "Uh-huh. You might want to watch that salute around the major, though," he said, imitating McConnell's left-handed salute, and then executing a proper military salute with his right hand. McConnell made a face like he'd just swallowed a particularly large and crunchy bug. Daniel chuckled as he poured out more coffee. Military coffee, as black as black can be, first it killed the– Never mind.

* * *

"Damn!" Daniel rummaged through the contents of his backpack one more time, then glanced accusingly around the room. "I know you're hiding here somewhere." He overturned the piles on the small table serving as a desk, then picked up the camp lantern sitting on the table and scanned every corner of the room, even shaking out the covers on the bed. He must've left those notes back at the dig site. He knew the villagers had asked them not to go there between dusk and dawn, but really, it was more of a request than a hard and fast rule, wasn't it? Besides, he could be down there and back before anyone noticed he was gone. He had been on a roll with that translation and wanted to finish it before going to bed.

He quickly and quietly crept out into the streets of the village, thankful it was late enough for most of the locals to be fast asleep. There were two full moons, which made him doubly thankful since it meant he wouldn't need to take a flashlight that might betray him. Of course, the moonlight that lit his way might also reveal his presence to anyone who happened to be looking in the direction of Stat'okto, so he made a concerted effort to keep to the shadows cast by the trees lining the path down to the ruins.

The night was cool and clear, a thousand stars blazing across the velvet night in unfamiliar patterns. It didn't matter how many alien skies he had seen. For some reason he always expected to see the familiar constellations of home and was always a bit disconcerted when he looked up at night, as if the patterns of Earth's night sky were somehow imprinted on him like a gosling to its mother.

He was so wrapped up in the silvery hush of the night, the only sounds his own breathing and the whisper of wind through fields of grain and early autumn leaves, he didn't notice the voice at first. When the faint sound finally registered in his conscious mind, he stopped dead still in his tracks, his ears straining to catch the elusive melody. It was singing, or at least he thought it was. There didn't seem to be any words, just a pure outpouring of sound, clear and sweet and profoundly sorrowful.

His breath caught and his eyes instantly stung with tears. Such a beautiful sound, but so very sad. It was like an aching heart transformed into music. He crept slowly and carefully towards the sound, not wanting to disturb the spell of its simple beauty and not wanting to frighten whoever was producing that song of sorrow.

He came to the edge of the ruins and froze in place as he saw a shadowy figure moving among the stones, her body draped in black from head to toe. At least he assumed it was a she. The voice had a decidedly feminine tone to it and the liquid grace of the figure as it walked had an unmistakably female sway to it. He held his breath, thinking his imagination must be playing tricks on him. No one was supposed to be here, not even the villagers. But if it was an illusion, it was an amazingly solid and substantial one.

He took a step forward and cringed when his foot snapped a dry twig. It was a small sound, but in the still of the night, it may as well have been a clap of thunder.

The figure whirled towards him and stood still for a moment, pale face glimmering in the moonlight. He was too far away to make out any of her features, and in the next moment, she yanked a veil over her face and darted away among the ruins. He called out to her to stop, but in his haste, he didn't look where he was going. His foot caught in a hole, and his ankle turned with a sickening snap as he lost his balance and pitched forwards.

He tried to break his fall with an outstretched hand, but he went down so hard and so fast, the wind was knocked out of him. He groaned and rolled over onto his back, staring dazedly up at the sky for a few seconds. Everything seemed blurry, but when he fumbled at his face with his hand, he found his glasses were still in place. The stars spun around him, making him dizzy, and he didn't seem to be able to catch his breath.

Just as his vision blurred even further and a darkness that had nothing to do with night began to creep in at the edges, the veiled figure appeared above him, kneeling down at his side and gently touching his forehead with warm hands. He shivered at the contact of warm flesh against his cold and clammy skin, but the pain and the nausea were fading away. He sighed in relief, dimly thinking his ankle still hurt like hell, and then he blacked out completely.

* * *

"Doctor Jackson. Are you all right? Sir? I mean– Oh, hell. Doctor Jackson, wake up."

Daniel groaned and slowly opened one eye, squeezing it shut again as a ray of sunlight sent a stab of pain through his head. He threw his arm across his eyes and lay there for a minute, disoriented and not sure where he was. There had been a voice, singing, and then– He sat up abruptly, immediately regretting the sudden movement as last night's dinner threatened an instant replay. His stomach quickly settled, though, and he pulled his arm slowly away from his eyes, blinking hard against the early morning sun.

He had tripped, hadn't he? Twisted his ankle? Or had he broken it? Now that his brain was beginning to function again, he was positive he had broken it, but as he experimentally wiggled his toes, he didn't even feel a twinge of pain. He was a bit stiff and sore all over and had a headache, but that could easily be accounted for by having slept on the ground all night. Or having been unconscious on the ground all night. Which was it? Maybe he'd been sleepwalking, and it all had been a dream. But he hadn't sleepwalked since he was a very small child.

He looked around and saw McConnell crouched down next to him with a concerned look on his face, the team medic at his side. "Are you all right?" the medic asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I think. Help me up, and I'll let you know for sure."

The medic didn't comply immediately, insisting on asking Daniel what his name was, what the date was (which Daniel provided in both Earth and Arusian terms) and how many fingers he was holding up. (Four. A frown from the medic. All right five, but a thumb's not a finger.) The medic finally allowed McConnell to give him a hand up.

Daniel felt a little dizzy when he was standing upright again, but that quickly passed. Everything was still a bit blurry, though. He went to adjust his glasses and found that, this time, they weren't there. McConnell extended a hand, Daniel's glasses carefully folded and laying in his palm. "They were all fogged up, so I cleaned them off. You must've been lying out here half the night."

"Yeah, I think I was. I left a notebook down here–" He broke off as he noticed one of the young men from the village standing to the left of McConnell and a bit further back.

The villager had a highly disapproving look on his face, longish brown hair flapping wind-tossed around the edges of the severe expression, as he said, "Please understand there are reasons for our request that you leave Stat'okto at dusk. Consider this a warning."

He turned to go, but Daniel's curiosity got the better of him as he asked, "Does it have something to do with the woman I saw here?"

The villager turned back towards Daniel, eyeing him suspiciously. "Woman?"

"Yes. Dressed in black. She was… singing." The villager just stared at him for a moment, hazel eyes fixed and expressionless, and Daniel was starting to feel like he really must be going crazy. Maybe he _had_ imagined it all.

"The Healer," the villager stated flatly, a hint of some emotion, maybe fear, flickering across his face.

"Healer?" His ankle twinged, an ankle that he certainly shouldn't be able to stand on right now.

"Yes. The ruins are off limits to all but her at night. It is… the only payment she asks." The villager paused and seemed to be about to say something more, then changed his mind. He sighed and approached Daniel, fixing him with a very serious stare. "Please do not violate the curfew again. I ask this not only for your own sake, but more importantly, for the sake of the Healer. There is so little she asks of us." With that, he turned and started to leave.

Daniel called out to the villager to wait, his mind racing with unanswered questions, but the other man only paused long enough to look over his shoulder and say "please" one more time before departing. "Please." Not a request, not a command, but the purest form of the word – a plea. An almost helpless, futile begging, like it didn't really matter, but also as if it were the most important thing in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Stone. Nothing but stone," McConnell muttered. Daniel didn't think he was really talking to him. Just thinking out loud. If it had been Jack saying something like that, he would've been exasperated, but he'd give McConnell the benefit of the doubt. He didn't seem to be one to make sweeping generalizations, except maybe where the Catholic Church was concerned.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Daniel said.

"Hmm? Yes, yes it is. I mean, we're talking about a very advanced civilization here. Somehow, I expected something a little more high-tech. Some kind of metal, maybe some sort of composite material, something we've never seen before. Anything but good old-fashioned stone."

"Did you read the geological survey?"

"Yeah. I know. No mineral deposits of any significance. Not enough clay in the soil to make bricks. Not enough trees to be of much use in building either, for that matter. That leaves stone as the most convenient local material. It makes perfect, logical sense, but somehow I was expecting something a little more high-tech from a place with such a, well, for lack of a better term, 'Star Trek' name. I mean, Outpost Eight?"

Daniel smiled, but couldn't resist adding, "It could be Outpost Eighty."

"Or it could be something else entirely. You have to admit our translations are pretty shaky, based on a lot of supposition and context. And anyway, who's to say that 'eighty' meant 'eighty' for the Ancients? Their math was base eight, so maybe 'eighty' is a hundred or sixty-four or– How does that work again?"

"You're asking the wrong person about that. You'd be much better off getting Sam to explain that one to you."

"Sam?"

"Oh, uh, Captain Carter."

"Ah, Captain Carter. All those brains and gorgeous to boot."

Daniel looked long and hard at McConnell before saying carefully, "Well, I never really thought about it that way, but I suppose she is pretty good looking."

"Oh, come on! She's a knockout. You never noticed? You'd have to be dead not to notice."

"No," Daniel replied, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm not dead. Just married."

"Well, even married men get to look."

The conversation was now making Daniel more than a little uneasy, so he directed his attention back out over the plain below them. They'd hiked up into the foothills of the neighboring mountain range to get a better view of the ruins. The city of the Ancients went on quite literally for miles, all the way to the horizon, strange mounds and odd outcroppings of rock giving evidence of the outpost buried beneath the surface.

SG-5 had done a brief survey of the entire complex and had provided some rough maps identifying possible points of interest for the archaeological team, but Daniel had wanted to check it out for himself and draw his own conclusions. He'd dragged McConnell along with him, hoping the soldier's keen attention to linguistic detail equated to a keen eye for archaeological detail, but it seemed the sights that most interested the young private were more of the biological variety.

"So," Daniel said, hoping the tone of his voice clearly indicated this was a change of subject. "We've got a theory for why the Ancients used stone to build this outpost. The widespread use of inscriptions in an almost decorative fashion is established from the few other Ancient sites we've found thus far. Those sites were all completely deserted, though. No sign of habitation, much less of transplanted Earth cultures. But here we have an entire town of humans apparently transplanted from ancient Rome. We know why the Goa'uld relocated humans to other planets, but why would the Ancients do the same?"

McConnell paused before answering, and Daniel got the uneasy feeling he was going to try and pursue the previous topic. Thankfully, he dropped it. "Hard to say. Protection maybe? Like the Asgards and the Cimmerians?"

"Maybe. Their alliance with the Asgards might indicate similar goals. From what I've been able to learn of the local mythology, the Arusians see the Ancients as benevolent protectors, much like the Cimmerians and Thor. But why live side by side with the Arusians? Thor and his people kept their distance." Daniel was silent for a moment, lost in a myriad of theories that only half made sense or were complete leaps of wild speculation.

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" McConnell's comment cut abruptly across Daniel's train of thought.

"Huh? What bothers me?" Half of his brain was still sorting through theories and trying to match them up with sketchy evidence.

"Not being able to figure it all out."

Daniel finally pulled his attention back to the conversation, albeit with reluctance. "Yeah, sometimes it does bother me. Oh, I'll be perfectly honest – sometimes it just about drives me completely nuts. Other times, though, it's nice to leave a little bit of mystery left in the universe. Not every question needs to have an answer."

McConnell responded with a lopsided grin and seemed about to say something else when a group of birds suddenly took flight from their roost in the tall grasses at their feet. "What the–" He didn't have time to finish his question, though, as the ground beneath them began to shake, at first no more than a low rumbling, but quickly increasing to a full-fledged earthquake. "Hit the dirt," he yelled, snagging Daniel's sleeve and pulling him to the ground.

The next few minutes were a muddled blur of horrifying rumbling not only from the 'quake itself, but from the rocks tumbling down the hillsides above them. Daniel wrapped his arms tightly around his head, flinching as soil and small stones skittered all around him. He just hoped there weren't any loose boulders upslope from their position.

The ground stilled abruptly, and it took a few moments for him to realize he'd escaped unscathed, apart from a few minor aches which would certainly turn into bruises. As he raised his head, he saw McConnell had not been nearly so lucky. He was lying face down with his head turned to the side, blood trickling down his forehead and his stare fixed and glassy. Daniel gulped as he considered he might be dead, but then McConnell blinked, and Daniel heaved a sigh of relief.

The relief was short-lived, though, as he quickly made his way to McConnell's side and assessed his condition. Definitely a concussion. A very bad concussion. A very, very bad concussion.

Daniel wasn't sure what to do. Despite its protective holster, the radio McConnell was carrying had fared little better than his head. He would have to go for help, but he didn't want to leave McConnell here alone. But what would he be able to do on his own, with nothing more than limited medical knowledge and a few strips of gauze from the first aid kit? Hold McConnell's hand while he suffered, possibly even died?

He'd just have to take the chance. If he stayed, there was no hope at all. If he went, there was at least some hope. He'd take a slim chance over "not on your life" any day.

He pulled off his jacket and draped it carefully over McConnell, checking to make sure the bleeding from his scalp wasn't serious. The cut seemed to be superficial. It was what was going on beneath the surface that worried him.

Satisfied he'd done what he could – precious little – he set off at a jog down the slope, making a beeline for the base camp on the other side of the ruins. If only the 'quake had struck earlier – or later. If only they hadn't gone so far. If only someone else had come with them. If only they'd brought more than one radio. If only…

He was so intent on getting back to base as quickly as possible he almost ran right into her as she came around the other side of a rocky ridge. The veiled woman. The one he'd seen in the ruins.

He pulled up short, wondering for a moment if maybe a rock had, in fact, hit him on the head. She was real, though, and didn't seem to be surprised to meet him. She walked right up to him without the slightest bit of hesitation and laid a hand on the side of his face.

Her fingers, which had seemed warm to him in the chill of the night, now felt cool against his cheek, soft and gentle against skin hot and flushed with exertion and worry. He felt a tingling where she touched him, almost like a discharge of static electricity, but transferred slowly instead of in a short burst. She pulled her hand away and stood looking at him. He could just make out the glint of her eyes behind the veil draped over her face.

"You are not injured," she said after a moment. It was a simple statement, but Daniel had the impression there were many layers of meaning hiding beneath the words, if only he had the time to unravel them. Not now, though.

"No, I'm fine, but my friend…" He gestured back the way he had come, and she set off in that direction without another word. He hesitated, not sure whether to follow her or to continue on to the camp. He had to admit to himself that staying or going was probably one of the more pointless decisions he had made in his life. He had a feeling that by the time he got back to McConnell with the medic, it could quite possibly be too late.

This strange woman, though – he had experienced her unusual talent firsthand. There was hope there. He turned and followed her, running to catch up.

"How did you know we were here?" There were at least a dozen questions milling around in his mind, but in the confusion, that was the first one that made its way to his lips.

She kept walking, quickly and purposefully, her eyes straight ahead. "I saw you, standing on the ridge."

Simple enough. She'd been watching them. Why? A suspicious question, so he tried for something a little less confrontational. The most basic of questions, question number one. "My name is Daniel Jackson. And you are?"

"The Healer."

"I know that." She didn't venture any further information, so he pressed on. "Don't you have a name?"

She stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, then began walking again, even more quickly than before, as fast as it was possible to go without breaking into a run. "I was once called Claudia," she finally answered as he matched her pace again. "But that name no longer has any meaning for me."

That only piqued his curiosity further, but now questions would have to wait. They had arrived back at the spot where he'd left McConnell. He lay exactly as before, except for the fact that the blood had trickled a bit further down his face and his eyes were now closed.

The Healer knelt beside him, dark robes swirling around her feet. She didn't say a word, didn't shake McConnell or call out to him, didn't attempt to turn him over. In fact, she barely touched him, pale, long-fingered hands reaching out to skim over his eyes, his head, his back, and down his arms and legs. Daniel noticed with a curious kind of detachment that her right index finger was twisted at an odd angle, as if it had been broken and healed badly, and there was a thick, ropy scar across the back of her left hand.

He had more pressing concerns than old injuries, though. He walked around McConnell's feet and dropped to one knee across from the Healer. "Will he be all right? Can you help him?"

"Yes." The word was devoid of any emotion, a statement of fact, as if she were making a comment about the weather. She laid one hand on the side of McConnell's head and slid the other very carefully under his neck, then leaned slightly forwards. Nothing happened, or nothing seemed to happen, but then Daniel felt a tingling again, or rather felt the nearby presence of the same kind of energy he'd felt when she touched his face. It was stronger this time, like the hum of electricity running through a transformer. It sent a shiver up his spine, and his jaw clenched involuntarily.

Then the sensation was gone, abruptly. The soft touch of an errant breeze made him flinch, and he realized she was gone, too. He must've been temporarily paralyzed or stunned somehow. He knew he hadn't seen her get up, but he saw a black shape stumbling unsteadily over the next ridge. He considered following her, but then McConnell groaned, his eyes fluttering open.

Daniel helped him to sit up, but his attention was still fixed on the retreating form of the Healer. She was quickly out of sight, heading back towards the ruins, back to her nightly refuge. The sun had almost set.

* * *

It was full dark by the time McConnell and Daniel arrived back at the village. McConnell didn't talk much all the way back, saying he had one hell of a headache. Daniel told him he'd been knocked out by a falling rock during the earthquake, but he left out any explanation of how serious the injuries had been and what Claudia had done to heal him. In fact, he didn't mention the Healer at all.

He was treading on dangerous ground here, and the last thing he wanted was for someone like Maybourne or Samuels to get wind of this. McConnell seemed level-headed enough, but he was still military. He might feel obligated to report the afternoon's events, especially given the possibility that Claudia's abilities might be derived from exactly the technology they were looking for. The Goa'uld had hand-held healing devices, and the Asgard had some sort of advanced technology embedded in the palms of their hands. It wasn't too far of a stretch to assume Claudia had somehow been implanted with a piece of Ancient technology.

Genetic tampering seemed unlikely since she was apparently the only one of her kind, although her talent could be derived from a spontaneous mutation. His knowledge in those areas was frustratingly superficial, but in the end, it all boiled down to the same thing – Claudia being taken back to Earth for further study, with or without her consent.

Daniel made sure McConnell found the medic to get checked out, then made a concession to his growling stomach by grabbing one of the ubiquitous MREs – two lies for the price of one – from his rations. He ate while he walked, taking a quiet side street out of the village and down to the ruins.

After over an hour of fruitless searching, he returned to the village. Either Claudia hadn't been heading there as he had thought or she had been and gone. Or she was very skilled in not being found when she thought someone might be looking for her. Someone who asked questions.

As he approached the village, he saw a tall figure standing at the end of the side street, looking out towards Stat'okto. Daniel tried to hide in the shadows, wary of being caught breaking the curfew yet again, but his presence had already been noted.

"You were looking for her." A statement, not a question. Simple fact, not at all accusing. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. The man who had pleaded with him to stay away from the ruins? Daniel approached cautiously until he could make out the features of the other person by the light of the moons. Yes, it was him.

"Do you mean Claudia?" Daniel asked hesitantly, uncertain what the man's intentions were and not reassured by the fact that he stiffened visibly at the sound of the name. He wondered briefly if he was breaking some kind of taboo by calling her by her proper name, but if he had, the damage was already done. Names, names – what's in a name? Sometimes nothing, sometimes everything. Usually somewhere in between. "I'm Daniel Jackson, by the way. And you are?"

"Darien," the man said simply, but he didn't offer any further information about himself.

"Is Claudia a relative of yours? Your sister maybe? Or your… wife?" Daniel asked gently. He felt like he was handling a brittle potsherd that might crumble to dust if he wasn't careful.

"No, no relation." He paused, sighed very quietly, a lonely sound mingled with the breath of the night breezes. "I once believed she might consent to be my wife. But that was a long time ago. I cannot say that I truly know her any longer. She has changed so much since she was touched by the gods."

"Then she hasn't always been like this?" So much for the genetic theory, unless it was something that didn't manifest itself until later in life. One part of him wanted to race ahead to the conclusion that the Ancients must have returned here sometime during the recent past, but all of the tales told by the villagers indicated the Ancients had abandoned their settlement a long time ago, suddenly and under a shroud of mystery.

"No." Darien's gaze fell to the ground, his hands clasping tightly in front of him. "No. Five winters ago, she was changed. In the ruins. She always loved to wander there, alone at night, and she never came to any harm. The ruins have been empty and silent for so long that the gods are only legends now, but our people still respect the sanctity of that place. The presence of the Holy Ones lives on. On that night they reached out across the years and touched my Claudia, changed her forever."

"Do you know what happened to her to cause the change?" Daniel could sense this was a painful topic, but he also felt Darien wanted to talk about it. A catharsis of sorts? Or maybe his own curiosity was making up justifications for him.

"She found two blue stones on the ground, shiny and round like gemstones, and when she picked them up, they burrowed into her palms like living things, but without pain and without blood. Soon after, she found she had been blessed by the gods with the gift of healing. And cursed by the scars she bears because of it."

"Scars?" Daniel swallowed as he remembered the scar across the back of Claudia's hand and the way one of her fingers was twisted.

"Yes." Darien's voice was carefully controlled and neutral, but with a hint of a quaver as he answered. "When she heals a wound, she suffers the wound herself. And the scars are left behind."

Daniel felt a chill running up his spine that was altogether different from the shiver he'd felt that afternoon. The veil… How many wounds had this poor woman healed? And why would the Ancients create a device with such a hideous side effect? Unless this was similar to what Jack had experienced – biology not being advanced enough to absorb the technology or a simple incompatibility with what was intended for a different kind of biology altogether. Daniel pushed those questions aside for the moment. It was obviously very difficult for Darien to tell him even as much as he already had, so he adjusted his tack a bit. "Why are you telling me this?"

Darien looked up again, and the pain in his eyes made Daniel catch his breath in sympathy. "Because I love her, but she will not speak to me. She pushed me away long ago. She has always been curious, though. She has been watching you and your people. You came here through the Great Circle as the gods once brought us here from our ancient homeland. You told us you came here from that same homeland, that you are our cousins many generations removed. You have knowledge we do not have. Perhaps… Perhaps there is some way you can help her?"

Daniel cringed inwardly at the plaintive note in Darien's voice. Here stood a man who had almost given up on hope, but couldn't quite bring himself to let go completely. Daniel knew what that was like, had been there himself. Was still there, every moment of every day. He knew that sometimes all it took was a reassuring word from someone else to find the strength to go on believing for just a little bit longer, that sometimes hope lives one breath at a time. He had to be cautious, though. He didn't want to raise false hopes.

"I don't know," he said carefully. "From what you've described, Claudia's… condition… is similar to some things we've seen before, but we have a long way to go before we understand how any of it works. And there are… people… where I come from who might not keep her best interests in mind if they hear about this."

Darien snorted. "Then your people are much like mine. They no longer see her as a person. They fear her even as they come to her to beg healing for their own loved ones. And she will not turn them away. She believes that to do so would be to deny the gift of the gods."

"And what do you believe, Darien?" It was a shrink-sounding kind of question – he'd certainly had enough experience with them in the past, particularly after his parents were killed – but sometimes shrink sorts of questions could lead to enlightenment in a roundabout kind of way.

Darien was silent for a moment, apparently considering. "It's difficult to put my faith in gods that could do such a thing to one who is so devoted to them. The ruins are a place of rest for her because she can feel their presence there. But it does not matter what I believe about the gods, or even what she believes. No creature should have to live like that, gods' will or no. But I do not know what to do. I have tried everything that I can. And now I must ask for help. Will you help her? Please? Will you at least try?"

Daniel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, unable to face the desperation written so plainly across Darien's face. He was torn between wanting to do what he could – Claudia had, after all, healed both himself and McConnell – and not meddling in something that could very well blow up in his face. How could he even be certain she would want his help?

On the other hand, it was obviously difficult for Darien to request assistance in this matter. That quality reminded him of someone else he knew, a certain tough-as-nails-and-eats-them-for-breakfast colonel. But nails would chew a hole in even a cast-iron stomach eventually. He opened his eyes. "All right. I'll do what I can."

* * *

He found her in the marketplace the next morning, her customary shopping day, according to Darien. Darien had also told him she had once been a very spontaneous person, making decisions on a whim, but she had become much more reserved since the change, unwilling to cause any more upset than she already did by the wonders her hands could work.

He watched her for a long time from the edge of the market square, saw how she cautiously threaded her way through the crowds, careful not to touch anyone with any part of her body. Not that an accidental touch was likely to occur – people were quick to move out of her path, some seeming startled as if they had forgotten that she still lived among them as a fellow human being; some drawing aside with deep respect, their heads bowed; still others looking at her with something akin to pity in their eyes. A few, though, stepped up to her and bid her a good morning, and her shoulders lifted and her head tilted to the side as she stopped to exchange a few words. Then she would become conscious of the staring again and move on, stopping only to make a quick selection of merchandise from a few of the stalls.

She wouldn't touch something unless she was going to buy it, and she laid her money on the table instead of putting it in the merchant's hand. She touched and healed, and yet was untouchable, untouched.

He made his way slowly along the edge of the marketplace, observing that her progress was tending towards the western side of the plaza. He fell into step beside her after she made her last purchase and was leaving. She didn't turn her head to look at him, just marched straight ahead for several paces before she said, "You were watching me."

He was a bit surprised she had noticed one more pair of eyes on her in that crowd. "Yes. And you've been watching me." She made no response to that, either verbally or physically, so he added, "I wanted to thank you for what you did for me and my friend."

Her head twitched towards him for a fraction of a second, then she picked up her pace. "It is not necessary to thank me. You should go now."

"Why? I just want to talk to you. Don't you ever get lonely?"

She stopped dead in her tracks at this remark, her hands twisting uneasily around the handle of her shopping basket. "I know more about loneliness than anyone has a right to know, Daniel."

She started walking again, even more quickly then before, and he had to chase after her. "I know what that's like, Claudia – to be alone, isolated, cut off from the world around you… afraid."

She stopped again and turned towards him. She was perfectly still for a moment, then her hand moved unexpectedly to the veil covering her face and yanked it aside. Scars, so many scars, one across her forehead; one from her ear, across her cheek, down and into her lip; one across her eyebrow and onto her eyelid, pulling the skin upward a bit; a twisted and shiny patch running along her jaw and onto her neck… And those were just the large ones.

He was stunned. Something twisted inside of him, his heart or his stomach, he couldn't tell. One hand and one finger couldn't possibly have prepared him for this. And her eyes, so large and dark and shining, sparking with anger. "Look in the mirror, Daniel Jackson, and then come back and tell me again that you understand."

She whirled away from him, pulling the veil back over her face and stalking away down the street. She didn't stop to retrieve the apple that fell out of her basket. After she had turned a corner and disappeared from sight, he went and picked up the bruised piece of fruit and wiped it off on his shirt. He didn't know why he picked it up or what he planned to do with it. He didn't know what to think at all. He'd been stupid to think that he could even begin to comprehend her pain. But still, he had to try.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Daniel spoke to Darien later that day at the dig site, expecting him to be discouraged by his less than auspicious initial approach to Claudia. Darien, though, was surprised she had actually shown her face to Daniel. He said that a normal response would've been for her to exchange a few polite words, then be on her way. Her reaction to Daniel was, to say the least, unusual.

Daniel didn't quite know what to make of this information, and found his curiosity was growing with each new piece of the puzzle. He went to her home that evening, having learned from Darien that she lived alone in a small house just a bit outside of town near the road to Stat'okto. It was a humble dwelling, made of weathered stacked stone with a thatched roof and a wide flagstone porch at the front. There was a small, well-tended garden to one side and a small group of some kind of pine trees towards the back.

There were so few trees in the area, most of them apparently cultivated by human hands, that Daniel was surprised to see so many clustered around one house. Even more surprising to him, though, was the fact that Claudia was actually sitting on the front porch, mending a garment by the light of an oil lamp. Such a plain and simple task, work that could be done by any hand. But then she would have the same daily concerns as every other Arusian, along with so many other cares that they couldn't even begin to fathom.

Why did he think he'd have any more success in reaching her than people who had known her all her life? Did he assume too much? Was this kindness or was it arrogance? Then again, sometimes it was easier to open up to a complete stranger, someone who didn't have a bundle of preconceived ideas blocking the path to an open mind.

He hesitated, wondering if it would be better to leave her to her peace and quiet, but then she spoke, although she didn't look up from her work. "You are very persistent."

"Yes. I can be. Where I come from, we call people like me a pain in the ass." He wanted to kick himself for saying that. McConnell must be rubbing off on him – as if Jack hadn't already. Was he trying to make her angry again? Trying to get back at her for being so abrupt with him? Maybe deliberately trying to avoid the casual politeness that was her usual mode of operation?

"Oh? Interesting. You will excuse me if I do not offer to heal that particular ailment." She didn't look up from her stitching as she spoke, and he wasn't sure at first he'd heard her correctly.

He laughed uneasily. "Was that– Was that a joke?"

She finally looked up, the veil stirring in the night breeze. "Yes, I suppose it was." She seemed to consider that fact for a moment, shook her head slightly, then asked in a slightly defensive tone, "Do you not have humor where you come from?"

"Yes, of course we do." He frowned, trying to decide if she was actually going to talk to him or if this was a precursor to another helping of cold shoulder.

She was silent for a long moment, and he could feel her eyes on him, staring through the veil. Finally she said, "Tell me about it – your world, the place you come from." There was something in her voice that made him wince, some strange mixture of curiosity and longing and fear. A fear of rejection, he realized. Did she think he would refuse her something as simple as a conversation? But then her own people seemed to be mostly unwilling to allow her anything approximating a normal life. Or maybe it was that she wouldn't allow herself to simply be a human being. Probably a mixture of both. He didn't think he could do much about the former, but he was willing to try to do something about the latter.

He sat down on the chair next to her – odd that such a solitary person would have two chairs on her porch, as if the invitation were always there, even if it was rarely accepted – and told her about Earth. He'd had conversations like this more than a few times in the past, so there wasn't the stumbling hesitation that there had been the first few times someone had asked him about his world. He knew from those past experiences where to begin, and as for where to end, he let Claudia be his guide. She asked him some very pointed questions about healing and how the injured and disabled were treated on Earth. He was honest with her, telling her about the good along with the bad, and she showed both amazement at the wonders of an alien world as well as disappointment that the inhabitants of that world were not somehow more perfect than her own people were – or maybe it was a strange kind of bitter comfort more than disappointment, an affirmation that some things were universal, the ugly as well as the beautiful.

Finally she asked him if he had ever, in all his travels, encountered anyone with abilities like hers. All of her other questions had been quick and precise, apparently driven by a need to know that Daniel understood perfectly, but she was obviously reluctant to ask this final question – as if she were afraid of being unique, truly alone in this one aspect of herself that so defined and shaped her life. He told her about the Goa'uld and their healing devices and about the Asgard and their alliance with the Ancients. She was very interested in all of this, but ultimately a bit crestfallen when he had to tell her that no, he had never met anyone quite like her. He didn't mention the scars specifically, even though that was the main thing he felt differentiated her abilities from Goa'uld and Asgard technology. He didn't want to draw any more attention to what must be the greatest burden of all for her.

He would wonder later if that omission and avoidance was a mistake.

They were both silent for a while after that, listening to the distant sounds of the town settling in for the night – doors and shutters being closed, mothers calling out to children to come home to bed, a loud curse following on the heels of a muffled crash – and the nearer sounds of the wind in the pines and a nightbird's intermittent warbling from the branches. He spoke again with reluctance. "Darien talked to me a couple of nights ago." He wasn't sure if she'd be angry about that, but she simply nodded. "He asked me if there was anything I– if there was anything my people could do for you."

"From what you have told me, it does not seem as if there is." Her voice was guarded, the words carefully measured.

"No. Well, at least nothing that I think would be acceptable to you. You'd have to go to Earth, and I can't guarantee that you'd be allowed to come back."

She quickly shook her head. "Then there is nothing that can be done. This is still my home, despite everything, and I have a purpose here. I will not leave."

He nodded slowly. He couldn't argue with that. Even when he'd been at the bottom of the academic heap, purpose had kept him going. Purposes changed, but the purpose of purpose didn't. "You'll need to be careful."

She laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Careful of what? Of fear? There is nothing I can do about that."

"No. I only meant that most of the people here with me would be likely to dismiss stories about you as superstition. If they saw what you can do… Well, let's just say they might not care if you don't want to leave."

She was silent for a moment, then suddenly stood up, gathered her mending and blew out the lamp. "It grows very late, and I am tired. Goodnight, Daniel." She brushed past him, almost touching but not quite, but then stopped in the doorway as she said more gently, "Thank you for your advice. And for your kindness." She hesitated, giving him the impression she wanted to say something more, but she simply said, "Goodnight," again and closed the door behind her.

* * *

The next day at the dig, he told Darien about the previous night's conversation. Darien was disappointed, that much was evident from the way he tightly squeezed his eyes shut, as if in physical pain, but then he thanked Daniel in a slightly quaking voice and went back to his work. Was he really still hanging onto hope as Daniel had thought, or was he simply going through the motions? He sometimes wondered the same about himself, about Sha're.

No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. Giving up was not an option.

He went back to Claudia's house that evening, but the windows were dark, the door was closed, and the porch was deserted. Even the chairs and table had been taken inside. Either she wasn't home or she was making it clear she wanted to be left alone. Part of him wanted to honor her unspoken wishes, but he also recalled someone once telling him that sometimes people will push you away just to see if you care enough to push back. He barely knew Claudia, but maybe she was just waiting for someone, anyone, to push back.

The smell of rain was in the air as he walked down to the ruins, and clouds skittered across the moons, casting strange shadows over the land. He found her there, her back turned to him as she sat on a low hummock, her knees pulled up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs.

She must've sensed his presence because she said, very quietly, her voice barely audible above the wind, "Have you come to see me about that pain?"

"Pain?" He was confused. Did she think he was someone else?

"Yes. The – what did you call it? – pain in the ass?" She twisted her body around as she spoke and looked up at him. The veil wasn't there. Or rather, it was lifted up off of her face and was wrapped over her hair and tucked under her chin, like a scarf that any village woman would wear on a cool night. And her face looked like any other face. The scars were barely noticeable. He could see they were still there, but what stood out in the dim glow of the cloudy moonlight was the round shape of her face framed by the dark veil, the soft curve of her mouth, the strong line of her very Roman nose, and the shining of her eyes – dark eyes, maybe brown, maybe hazel. He couldn't quite recall from the marketplace because all he'd seen then was the anger. It didn't matter. They were the eyes of another human being.

"I, uh–" He paused, not sure what to say. He hadn't even been sure he'd find her here, and to find her unveiled and apparently not caring that he could see her face threw him off-kilter, to say the least. But wait – the joke – she'd made another joke. "Um, I think I'll keep that particular pain. It has its uses."

"So it does." She smiled and held a hand out to him. It took him a moment to realize she wanted help standing up. To touch that hand… He only hesitated a fraction of a second. It was a simple, human hand, warm in the cool night air, with only the faintest trace of the strange energy he'd felt there before. She peered at him oddly for a moment, the beginnings of what he could've sworn was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and then she turned and stood next to him, looking out over stones and mounds of earth. The shadows of clouds and silvery moonlight were weaving a hypnotic chiaroscuro over the landscape. "It is very beautiful, is it not?"

Daniel nodded. He certainly couldn't deny that. The moonlight was soft and gentle, and the mysteries hidden there only heightened his awareness of the shrouded beauty.

"And so quiet," she continued, tucking her arms around her body. "Peaceful. This is why I asked to be left alone here at night. The moons and the wind and the memory of the Holy Ones are comfortable companions. They do not judge. They only listen. But you are not content merely to listen, are you? What is it you are hoping to find, Daniel?"

"Well…" He paused, his mind shifting gears – vague translations only half making sense, something lost among the centuries. "We were hoping to find some clues here about the Ancients – our name for your Holy Ones – where they came from, where they went, who they were."

"Lofty goals. And you hope to find these answers by digging in the dirt?"

He blew a quick puff of air through his nostrils, smothering a laugh. "I like to think of it as digging in the past. And yes, I do hope to find the answers – eventually."

"And in the meantime?"

He shrugged. "Keep on looking."

"Only for the past? Is there nothing else?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gave her a quick glance. She was still looking out at the ruins, her face unreadable, if a face like hers, a face so long hidden behind a veil, could even be read. He had avoided personal details in his previous talk with her, keeping to general information about Earth and an abbreviated account of the travels of SG-1. Now, though, she seemed to be looking for something more intimate, maybe trying to gauge what it meant when he pushed back. Action/reaction. A simple law of the universe. But physics had nothing to do with the human heart.

It had been a while since he'd talked to anyone about Sha're. Most of the time, he just tried to bury it all as deeply as possible so that he could keep on going – deep enough so that the pain was bearable, but never deep enough to forget. "I have a wife." He remember telling Sam that he _had_ a wife. He pushed the memory aside. "Sha're." It hurt to even say the name out loud. "She was taken from me by the Goa'uld. She was forced to become one of them. But I'll find her one day and free her." It was impossible to keep the anger out of his voice. He was choked by it, the same way he hoped to someday choke the life out of the one who had done this to her.

A hand touched his arm, making him jump. For a few seconds, the image of Apophis gasping for breath, pleading for mercy he would never get, was so vivid in his mind he'd completely forgotten where he was.

"You must love her very deeply to continue searching for her, even knowing what she has become," Claudia said quietly.

There was an unspoken meaning in her words. What she had become… Lost, gone, dead. Arusian legends spoke of the Goa'uld as eaters of souls, demons cast down by the Holy Ones. The Arusians believed that once someone was taken by a Goa'uld, that person was gone forever, the body living on with no other soul than the heart of evil. He knew better, though. He'd seen the proof in Kendra. "Sha're can be saved. She can be herself again. There are ways."

"A desperate hope."

"Yes. But even a desperate hope is better than none at all."

He looked at her, and she met his gaze steadily, unflinching. "Perhaps." Then she turned and started to walk away. He considered calling out to her, trying to convince her that she should give Darien another chance, but he knew all the talking in the world wouldn't persuade her to do that. She'd have to find the courage in her own heart. All he could do was point the way – and hope he was pointing in the right direction.

She stopped abruptly and turned back towards him, then gestured off towards the northwest. "Go and look up there. Beyond the ruins of the Seven Temples. There is something that might interest you there. But wait until the morning. You would likely fall and break your ankle in the dark, and you would have to hobble back on your own this time."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

One, two, three, four? Five, six? Seven? There seemed to be seven irregular mounds there, in a circle, jagged stones and pieces of what were probably columns scattered about. Daniel looked down at the survey map in his hand. He never would've been able to tell from the lines traced out there that these were seven distinct objects. In fact, even looking at the site in person left some doubts, but it was the only thing in the vicinity that could be what Claudia had called the Seven Temples.

He refolded the map and tucked it into a pocket, then set off through a gap between two of the more distinct mounds, intending to cross the center of the circle instead of marching all the way around it. He'd come alone, feeling that a little quiet time by himself would do him some good right now. McConnell had offered to accompany him, but Daniel had politely declined. He had a lot to think about, but now that he was here, he found his mind simply drifting, taking in the warmth of the sun on his head and shoulders, the evenness of the scrub-covered ground he was traversing – some kind of courtyard in the center of the temple complex? – the slight bounce in his step that must be due to the slightly lower gravity on this planet relative to Earth. It certainly wasn't because he was feeling particularly light-hearted at the moment.

As he passed between another set of mounds on the northwest side of the circle, he completely forgot all about the random thoughts he'd been using to distract himself. His mind went completely blank for a few seconds, then was filled with a jumble of excited hypotheses.

The land here sloped downwards in a succession of evenly-spaced humps fanning out in a semicircle from a lower-lying area framed by several partially intact columns. It was obviously the remains of an amphitheater, but he'd never seen in any amphitheater – Roman, Greek or otherwise – anything even remotely like the pair of obelisks standing in front of the columns. He half-jogged, half-stumbled down the slope to the bottom of the amphitheater, narrowly avoiding tripping and falling in several places. She'd been right – he probably would've broken his ankle in the dark, if not a leg or even his neck. This was worth a couple of broken bones, though. Well, maybe not a broken neck.

Both of the obelisks were covered from top to bottom with carvings – not surprising given the inscriptions found on all the other ruins – but only one of them was Ancient script. The other one was covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs. He sucked in a breath as his eyes devoured the familiar symbols. It was a welcoming message, addressed to Ra and the members of his court. They had been invited here to negotiate a peace treaty. Astonishing subject matter, to say the least, but the implications of the message itself were shoved to the back of his mind when his eyes skimmed over the other obelisk and its Ancient inscriptions.

The linguistic team had been struggling with translating the written language of the Ancients, basing all of their efforts on the meager foundation Daniel had been able to piece together working with Jack when he'd started spouting Ancient-ese. Making connections between a completely unfamiliar alphabet and a spoken language that sounded like Latin but didn't match exactly had caused more than a little pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth. But now– There were words on this obelisk he was certain of, and as he looked back to the hieroglyphs, he realized the two inscriptions were the same.

"My God," he breathed, taking a stumbling step backwards and blinking his eyes hard to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "It's a Rosetta Stone." He fumbled for his video camera and set about recording both of the inscriptions. Thank goodness the device had a "steady cam" feature, or he doubted any of the footage would've been of much use due to the excited tremor in his hands.

Why hadn't the survey team found this? They'd have to be completely ignorant not to realize the importance of this find. Then he remembered this area of the ruins had been surveyed by air. From above, it was very likely the two obelisks looked like just another couple of columns. They were made of the same bleached limestone – or at least, something similar to limestone – as the rest of the ruins.

He was making a second, slower and slightly more steady pass over the Ancient script when he finally noticed the faded mark slashing across the obelisk at about the height of his chest. He lowered the camera and stepped forward, his fingers lightly tracing over the imperfection. The carved figures were deep, enough to withstand centuries of wind and rain, so the mark didn't obscure the writing, but it was very definitely there. He would have to get some people in here to run tests, and even then they might not be sure given the length of time since the event occurred, but it seemed to him that the mark might've been made by the grazing blast of an energy weapon. A betrayal in the midst of peace negotiations?

 _Whoa, Daniel. You're really running ahead of yourself here. Those kind of assumptions can be dangerous._ But it would fit with what they knew of Ra. He certainly wouldn't put it past the late would-be god to have used a flag of truce to get close enough to ambush an enemy.

He looked a little more closely at the obelisk, then at the other, then at the columns behind. There were no other marks that he could detect. A single shot? Would Ra have placed himself in such great risk merely to eliminate a single enemy leader? Or had he simply not come to the conference, sending his apologies in the form of an armed assassin?

Okay, now he was really going out on a limb with the speculation. He turned back to make one more camera sweep of the obelisks. Ra was dead. So was his victim, the one here added to the many elsewhere. The Ancients, though, could well be very much alive, and a definitive key to their language might just take them that much closer to making contact.

"Damn." He lowered the camera and took a deep breath. The adrenaline rush was wearing off now, but oddly, his hands were shaking even worse then before. Then he realized it wasn't just his hands that were shaking. The ground was trembling ever so slightly underneath him. He froze. "Oh, shit." Even after living in California, he hadn't gotten used to this. If anything, his college years had made him even more aware of the damage even a small 'quake could cause. The obelisks had survived for this long, but it would be just his luck for them to be thrown to the ground now.

As the shaking increased in intensity, the obelisks only swayed a little bit. He, on the other hand, did not have the steadiness offered by the weight of tons of stone. Dignity went out the proverbial window as he was tossed to the ground like a toy discarded by a distracted child – a very large, very temperamental child.

He landed on his back with his arms flung out to either side. He made one attempt to sit up and quickly decided it would be best to stay put until the earthquake subsided. As long as the obelisks remained intact, he seemed to be out of the way of any falling debris.

He'd forgotten about the columns, though. They weren't directly over him, but they were close enough and tall enough that a chunk of one of them decided to bounce over and check him out. Or rather, check out his right hand. He supposed he should be glad of that since if it had chosen his head, he'd be the one doing the checking out.

The rock landed squarely in the middle of his palm and rolled away, its momentum deadened by the impact. Thank God it wasn't the hand still holding the camera.

His mind told him there should be pain, but there wasn't. At least, not initially. Just a vague, aching numbness. As the rumbling of the ground gradually stilled, he made an attempt to pull the hand towards his face to get a better look. He instantly regretted it.

There weren't many things he'd experienced in his life that hurt that much. A blast from a Goa'uld staff weapon was close. He made another attempt to move his hand and decided maybe it was a toss-up as to which hurt more.

Gritting his teeth and choking back the yell that was trying to rip itself out of his lungs, he rolled the rest of his body towards his hand. If the hand won't come to Daniel, Daniel must go to the hand. Okay, piece of cake. Large, dry piece of cake, with no milk to wash it down, but still… Now for a real challenge – sitting up. It was a good thing there weren't any penalties for screaming in the process or he certainly would've been into negative points.

He bent one leg and tucked the ankle beneath his other knee to keep from falling over again and deposited the camera carefully in his lap. Those concerns taken care of for the moment, he reached out to pull his injured hand slowly towards him, bending the elbow with excruciating care, and finally bringing the back of the hand to rest on his knee.

The effort made his eyes water. Passive movement hurt a bit less, but not much. He sniffed and dragged the back of his good hand across his runny nose before returning his attention to his injury.

Just looking at it was making him nauseous, or maybe that was more the result of the ache gnawing its way up his arm, into his shoulder, and down his side. Really, though, all things considered, it didn't look all that bad. His palm was badly cut and scraped and was oozing blood, but at least there weren't any bones sticking out. He'd seen a compound fracture on a dig in Egypt once and really had no desire to ever see one again, much less on his own body.

It didn't take a doctor, though, to know the bones in his hand were anything but intact. The real question was how many pieces they had been broken into. He hoped not many. He didn't much fancy the idea of setting off the metal detector at the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain for the rest of his life.

He tried to summon up the courage to prod at his palm to determine the extent of the injury. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he was fairly certain the only result would be to cause him to scream bloody murder.

He was saved from his dilemma by a pair of feet – feet wearing sandals under the dragging hem of a dark robe. He thought about looking up, but decided he already felt light-headed enough as it was. He knew who it was anyway.

"So who appointed you my guardian angel?" He mentally congratulated himself for keeping his voice reasonably steady – no small feat at that particular moment.

She didn't answer him, but knelt down at his side. The veil was back over her face. She reached out towards him. He jerked away reflexively, without thinking.

If pain had a color, it would definitely be red. Or maybe black speckled with silver flashes. That was certainly what he was seeing at the moment. As for what he felt – it might've felt better to chop his hand off with an axe and be done with it. Good thing there wasn't one nearby. He might've been tempted.

His body curled protectively around his hand, but somehow, he managed to retain enough presence of mind to drag the camera out of his lap and set it on the ground beside him. Didn't want to get blood on it. He knew the thing was supposed to be waterproof, but he didn't want to take the chance. Silly, really, since both of the obelisks were still standing, but California had also taught him that sometimes the aftershocks were the biggest worry. There had only been a few minor, almost imperceptible ones after the first earthquake a couple of days earlier, but who knew this time.

"Let me see your hand," she said gently, but firmly. He was reminded of his mother, insisting that he take his hand out from behind his back, the hand that was holding the ankh he'd filched from the table full of artifacts waiting to be catalogued. He hadn't thought it would be missed, one small object among so many.

"No." His voice sounded petulant to his own ears, much like that long-ago child insisting he wasn't hiding anything. He wasn't a kid, though, and hadn't been, really, since the day he lost his parents.

"Daniel. Please."

He finally managed to unclench his shoulder and stomach muscles just enough that he was able to sit up straight again. He looked her in the eye, or rather, he looked at the part of her veil that he knew hid her eyes. "I can't let you do that." If he'd had that kind of resolve when he was a kid, he'd still have that damn ankh.

"Pain in the ass." It was the last thing he expected her to say. He couldn't help but let out a short bark of laughter. His guard dropped. She saw her opening and grabbed.

It felt like she'd come armed with that axe he'd been thinking about, but then the pain was gone. Both of her hands were wrapped around one of his, warmth and tingling energy spreading from her palms into his hand, up his arm, easing even the ache and the nausea. "This is who I am, Daniel. This is what I do. They may try to deny me a name, but they can never take this away."

"Claudia…" He stretched his free hand out towards her face, but she flinched back, then fell back, landing rather ungracefully on her backside. He didn't know whether to laugh or be angry – maybe both, but in what order? Then she gasped and doubled over, her arm clutched tightly to her chest – her right arm…

"My God." He was painfully aware of the irony of that statement. Yes, it had been her gods who had done this to her – a miracle of suffering. And she had accepted it, made it part of herself, made it her whole self.

He reached out to her again, but she twitched away and tried to push herself up from the ground with her left hand. He saw the blood on the other hand, the beginnings of the swelling, the shape of shattered bones under the skin. His own hand twinged in sympathy, and he tried to ignore the new ache spreading through his chest, a new pool of nausea in the pit of his stomach, the symptoms not caused by any physical injury this time.

He had seen the scars, and Darien had told him in words, but somehow that simply hadn't prepared him for the reality. One part of him wanted to turn away, but another part wanted to gather her up in his arms and simply hold her, rock her gently as his mother had done for him when he had suffered some scrape or bump or bruise. But this was so much more than that. He wasn't sure there was anything in the world that could ease that kind of pain.

She abandoned the struggle to stand and fell back to the ground in a heap, her veil half slipping from her head. She tugged it back in place and pulled her knees up against her chest, her hand pinned in between. "Go away."

"No." He said it in a normal tone of voice, very quietly, but there was no doubt in the word. You push, and I'll push back. He could do insistent as well as the next person, probably better than most.

She tried to top insistent with adamant. "I said, go away. Leave me alone."

"No." Again, quiet, controlled. His mother would've been proud. Or annoyed.

"Why will you not listen to me?" It came out half as a growl and half as a wail.

"Why won't you let me help you?" He reigned the anger in. Push only as hard as she pushes – no more, no less.

She was silent for a moment, then thrust her hand out towards him. "What help can you give me for that? There is nothing you can do."

He didn't flinch. At least not outwardly. He took a deep breath and very carefully cradled her hand in his own, mildly surprised she didn't try to pull away. She simply sat there, shoulders slumped, head bowed. His was only a simple, human touch. He couldn't heal her the way she had healed him. He couldn't take back the pain.

But now, even as his astonished eyes watched, the injuries were disappearing from her hand, the bones knitting themselves together, the torn skin closing, leaving only a patchwork of fine scars. Maybe there was something he could do after all, something that required nothing more than a simple, human heart. Sometimes hope was born of nothing more than words, and he had plenty of those to give. "You told me you thought I must love my wife very much to keep searching for her."

"Yes." Her voice had taken on an icy calmness, but he could sense the warmth still stirring underneath – the fire of pain, the flash of anger, maybe even a flicker of lamplight in the dark. "Love like that is very precious."

"But you won't accept it for yourself."

"I have no need for love."

"Everyone needs love, Claudia."

"Oh?" The word was a bitter, twisted sound. "Tell me who could love this." She pulled the veil away from her face as she had done before in the marketplace. "The moonlight may fool you into thinking I am no different from any other, but look at me in the light of the day and tell me that anything human could love me." Her voice was shaking with anger, and he could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, but he knew she would fight with everything she had to keep them from falling.

"You said this is who you are." He stretched a hand out towards her face again, and this time she didn't move at all. She let him touch her, let him cradle the side of her face in his hand, even as she continued to stare defiantly at him. "There was a poet from my world who said that 'beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all you know on earth, and all you need to know.' These scars are your truth, Claudia. Don't be ashamed of the beauty and compassion they represent."

She continued to stare at him in silence for a moment, and then the tears did fall – a single tear at first, sliding quick and bright over her cheek and down to the corner of a trembling mouth. Then another tear followed down the same shining track, joining with the first to form an even larger tear that slipped over her chin and down her neck. And then she stopped fighting and let the facade crack and split apart. He found himself thinking how truly horrible most people look when they are weeping, which is only natural since the tears are a reflection of horrible pain, but somehow, the tears made her beautiful.

He gathered her into his arms and rocked her gently. Maybe just holding someone wasn't so useless after all.

He let her cry, not saying a word, just being there, feeling the damp warmth of her face pressed against his neck, the grip of her hands, both hands, one around his arm, the other grabbing a fistful of his shirt, both hands strong and whole, as she was strong and maybe could be whole.

She finally quieted and went limp against him, her breath gradually slowing and evening out. He rested his chin on the top of her head, her dark hair soft against his skin, warm from the sun, from the life in her. "Darien still loves you, Claudia."

He thought he felt a brief surge of tension ripple through her shoulders, but then it was gone again. "I know."

"Do you still love him?" It smacked vaguely of shrink-speak to him, but he couldn't recall any psychiatrist ever asking him about love. Telling, maybe, but not asking.

A heartbeat of silence. Maybe two. "Yes. But it is not as simple as merely loving."

"Sometimes it is, Claudia. Sometimes you just have to have the courage to live from the heart, as someone once said to me. I've tried to do that. It isn't always easy." Memories of Sha're, pregnant with the child of Apophis, came back to him. "But I think it's worth it in the end."

"Perhaps," she finally admitted, then pushed herself gently away from him. No need to push back now. That was over and done with.

She remained on her knees beside him, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed intently on her hands, so he stood up, flexed his right hand experimentally, then offered it to her. She looked up at him, her face pale and blotched, her eyes red-rimmed, but a hint of beauty still clinging to her, like mists lingering in the valley after the sun rises.

She took his hand and let him raise her to her feet, then smiled at him briefly before she pulled the veil back over her face. It wasn't what he expected, but then, what had he been expecting? That she would march back into town with her veil thrown back and her chin held high?

His disappointment must've shown on his face because she gently squeezed his arm as she said, "The truth is not always easy to accept, Daniel. But I will think about what you have said to me."

And then she turned and walked away from him, leaving him standing there, staring after her until she passed out of sight between the temple hills. He almost forgot to pick up the camera and take it with him when he finally followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Daniel buried himself in his work for the next few days – buried himself in unburying, in a manner of speaking. Actually, that turned out to be more literal than figurative. He simply couldn't focus his mind on translations and found himself drinking even more coffee than usual, which led to more pacing than usual.

After a few concerned inquiries from McConnell – and more than a few annoyed looks from the same – he put the very astonished private in charge of the translation efforts, grabbed a shovel and a set of trowels and brushes, and went off to join the digging crews. He got a few strange looks from the crew members, both local and Earth recruits, but he just set to work without a word.

They let him be.

He started off with the newest excavations, heaving shovel after shovel full of dirt into the sifters, occasionally helping to shake the dirt through with a roughness that would've elicited nothing but frowns and rebukes from colleagues back on Earth. He would've frowned at it himself, too, if he hadn't been so hell-bent on not thinking about anything but the work.

His pace eventually evened out into a steady rhythm, and when his muscles finally screamed at him in protest, he settled himself to do some of the more careful work of scraping and brushing the last of the earth away from uncovered walls and floors.

The site was curiously devoid of smaller artifacts, as if the occupants had taken everything they could carry with them when they abandoned the city. They must've departed en masse. The crews weren't finding any remains of long-dead Ancients, or anything even remotely resembling burial grounds for that matter, so who knew what they had done with their dead. Maybe they took all the bodies when they left.

That was too much thinking, though, so he went back to heavy digging, working himself to the point of exhaustion so he could fall asleep immediately when he returned to his room in Arus Seyus at night. He followed the same pattern for the next handful of days, digging, eating, sleeping, occasionally putting in an appearance with the translation team so they would leave him alone the rest of the time.

Once or twice, he woke up in the middle of the night and could've sworn he heard singing coming faintly from the direction of Stat'okto. He hadn't seen either Darien or Claudia since the day she'd left him by the obelisks – only three days ago, though it seemed much longer. He could only hope they were together.

Then the summons came for him to return to Earth – a new assignment for SG-1. Oh, yes – SG-1. There was something else for him to be doing other than digging – digging in the dirt, that is. Time to go and dig for something else, answers maybe. Maybe not.

He put McConnell officially in charge of the translation team – something that didn't sit well with the military types, but to hell with them. Most of the translators were civilians anyway.

He thought about trying to find Darien or Claudia to say goodbye, but he realized he hadn't the slightest idea where to begin looking for them. Actually, he knew where to begin, but there wasn't anyone at her house, and he had no idea where Darien lived. He didn't know where to go from there other than starting to ask villagers at random, and he just didn't have the heart to do that. His heart was telling him to let them be.

* * *

He felt unfocussed for a while after he returned to Earth, which prompted some concerned questions from Sam, a few worried looks from Teal'c, and even an inquiry after his health from Jack. He told them he was just fine, and they left him alone, although he could tell they were keeping a careful eye on him.

They didn't push, but he hadn't been pushing them away, so there was no need. He just needed a little space to think, something he finally let himself do between the next few missions, when he could be alone in his office, particularly late at night when the complex was quiet and he could imagine he was the only one there.

Jack would sometimes drop by with a cup of coffee, or Sam would bring him something to eat, or Teal'c would come to ask him a question about Earth customs, or Dr. Fraiser would stop by to pester him about sleeping. Even General Hammond came by once to ask him how he was doing. Fine. Just fine. That answer seemed to worry them even more, though, so he started to tell them he'd be okay. He just needed time to think.

He thought about a lot of things – why he did what he did on any given day, why he felt the way he did at any particular moment. "Why" was a difficult question to answer, though – except for one "why." Why did he feel such a compulsion – and yes, he had to admit it was a compulsion, or close enough that the difference was semantics on a microscopic level – why did he feel the compulsion to help others, to reach out when others turned their backs or were willing to just stand there and watch or had their own hands tied for some reason or had simply given up? Melosha, the Tollans, Brecca, Catherine and Ernest, Shyla, Nem, now Claudia – the list had grown, but one person was still missing, the one he most wanted to help.

He understood – no, _felt_ in a way that had nothing to do with intellect – felt that Sha're had changed his life, had changed him. He had been a solitary man before, obsessed with the past to the point of forgetting to care about the present all around him, but she had shown him what it meant to be part of a family again, to care about simple things like a home and a garden and a warm bed at night, to feel part of a community, part of the growth of the present as it became the future.

All of that had been taken away from him, and more often than not, he found himself beating his head against a brick wall trying to get it back, if that was even possible anymore. He supposed he was trying to make amends for his failures by helping where he could, by lending a hand to those who were somehow kept apart from or even ignored by the ones that should've helped them. In a way, these other people were surrogates of sorts, maybe a way of racking up karma points towards some kind of cosmic payback.

He didn't really believe in karma, though – interesting to study, but not something he could take to heart. Then again, maybe it didn't matter what he believed. Maybe the universe believed in karma, and even if he couldn't help Sha're himself, maybe someone else would be able to reach out to her as he had done for others.

Ultimately, he didn't really find much satisfaction in the answers he cobbled together, but it would have to do. Life went on, and gradually the rhythm – crazy syncopation that it was – of what passed for normalcy reestablished itself. He started to believe it when he said he was okay – as well as could be expected. Claudia was another name on the list, maybe another point on the scorecard, but above all, he hoped she was happy.

* * *

Daniel hit the rewind button for the video tape he had made on the latest P4-something-or-other. P49565. He sighed. He always seemed to remember the code names, as well as the corresponding glyphs. Sometimes, though, he couldn't quite remember what his wife looked like or what her voice sounded like. If only he had a photograph, a video tape of her instead of ruin upon ruin.

His eyes drifted over to the shelving unit on the wall across from his desk, crammed full of books and reports and mementos from places SG-1 had visited – surrogate photographs in a way. In some ways, better than photographs. He still had the shawl Sha're had been wearing the day she had been abducted. He'd found it lying abandoned in the Stargate chamber on Abydos. Other than the clothes on his back, it was the only thing he'd brought back to Earth with him. He kept it in a locked drawer of his desk, more precious than gold. It still smelled like her. At least he didn't have to rely on his memory for that much.

"Excuse me. Dr. Jackson?"

"Yes?" he answered absently, still staring at the shelves. He usually left his door open when he was working, so he was used to interruptions, and for the most part, he didn't let the sometimes frequent distractions disturb his train of thought. The train hadn't been going much of anywhere that afternoon, though, so he turned his head to see who it was. "McConnell," he exclaimed, twisting his chair around to face the door and managing to whack his knee on the side of the desk in the process. "What brings you here?" he said as he rubbed at the offended joint.

"They've closed down the Arus project." He must've come straight from the dig. His fatigues were rumpled and dusty, and Daniel thought he could detect the faint scent of sun-warmed earth.

"Oh," was all he said at first, then added, "not surprising. I've been reading the reports. Lots of very interesting inscriptions, but mostly poetry, history, political commentary, philosophy. No weapons schematics and no interesting little gizmos for the engineers to rip apart. To be honest, I'm surprised they didn't pack it in sooner."

"Well, they do say hope springs eternal."

"That they do, McConnell. That they do." It felt good, surprisingly so, to be having something approximating a normal conversation, so he pursued it. "I saw the brass couldn't deal with you being in charge of the translation team."

"Yeah." McConnell scratched uncomfortably behind his ear. "I mean, I was flattered by your recommendation and all, but it's kind of hard for a private to feel comfortable telling a captain what to do."

"That's okay. I understand. Besides, anyone with a brain could tell from the reports you were the one doing the real work, regardless of whose name was on the cover. You did some excellent work there, McConnell."

"Thank you, sir."

Daniel didn't even flinch at the title this time. People were what they were. McConnell was military, and to him, anyone older than eighteen and not a fellow noncom was "sir," whether it was a military appellation or simply a sign of common courtesy. "Was there something else you wanted, McConnell?"

"Oh. Yes, actually there was." He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flat packet of what appeared to be some kind of unbleached fabric like linen, tied up with a piece of twine. He held it out to Daniel, but Daniel just stared at it in puzzlement for a moment before he finally took it. McConnell cleared his throat. "Um, I'm not sure if you remember him, but there was a man working on the dig named Darien."

"Yes, I remember him," Daniel said quietly, swallowing the lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. The lump went down painfully, then burst into a flock of butterflies in his stomach.

"He asked me to give that to you, with compliments from his wife. I think you might've met her, too. Claudia. A strange sort of woman. All kinds of horrible scars on her face and hands. They say she's a healer, but I guess she's never heard of 'physician heal thyself.'"

Daniel shot him a sharp glance and had to struggle to keep from shooting him an even sharper response. That was McConnell's ignorance speaking, plain and simple, but he couldn't take the risk of enlightening him.

McConnell had caught the look, though. "You don't think it's true, do you?"

Daniel had to force a smile and hope it didn't look as phony as it felt. "That depends. You're a religious man, McConnell. Do you believe in faith healing?"

McConnell laughed uneasily, stuck his hands in his pockets, then immediately pulled them back out. "Well, I think believing in something can have a power all its own, but I don't think the military would be much interested in that."

Daniel nodded, eyeing McConnell warily. "Then we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir. I believe we do." He paused, then added with an easier smile, almost wistful in a way, "Something very odd, though. I mean, all those scars, but somehow – I don't know – 'beautiful' is the best word I can think of to describe her. Sounds crazy, I know, but–"

"No, it's not crazy, McConnell. Not crazy at all." They were both quiet for a moment, sharing a silent appreciation of the kind of beauty that went beyond the eye of the beholder.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Speaking of beauty and speaking of crazy, this is a little off the wall. Darien also said to give you a message."

"What's so off the wall about that?"

"Oh, not that he sent a message. The message itself. He said to tell you that truth really is beautiful. Do you know what he meant?"

His heart did a flipflop, perhaps flustered by the butterflies. "Yes. Yes, I do." He looked down at the package in his hands, turning it carefully over, then over again. "That's all we need to know on Earth. Or anywhere else, for that matter." He thought he knew what might be inside, but he was reluctant to open it in front of McConnell. It was… too personal – a beautiful truth that couldn't be understood just by looking.

"Keats, sir?"

"Yeah, Keats." He finally looked back up at McConnell, just in time to see the man's expression change from puzzlement to one of uncertain comprehension. Well, maybe he understood after all. Even so, despite the keenest of empathy, there were still some things that needed to be done in solitude.

"I'll leave you alone now, sir." Yeah, he really did understand. Smart kid. He even shut the door behind him, very quietly.

Daniel put the package on the top of his desk and just looked at it for a few minutes, trying to sort through the emotions swirling around in the pit of his stomach. No. No more trying to figure out why. He undid the string and unfolded the rough fabric.

Nestled inside was a bundle of dark, gauzy fabric. He carefully pinched one corner between his fingers and lifted the fabric, watching as it unrolled and fluttered briefly in the breeze from an air duct. "Why" really had nothing to do with this. It simply was, and it was beautiful.

He drew the fabric through his other hand, wondering at how soft and light it was. Somehow, he'd thought it would've been heavier, but he supposed it would've been burden enough even if it had been made of air.

He laid the veil across his knees and simply looked at it for a long time before he carefully wound it up and put it away in his desk, underneath the shawl, then closed and locked the drawer.

* * *

"True beauty dwells in deep retreats,  
Whose veil is unremoved  
Till heart with heart in concord beats,  
And the lover is beloved."

– William Wordsworth, "Let Other Bards of Angels Sing"

* * *

The End


End file.
